When the news of the attack at Kalis Six had finally sunk in and I had stopped thinking of all the ways I could die at the mercy of the Zerg, I asked, in a tone that sounded all to calm, “Raynor, what’s at Kalis?” 

     He seemed distracted for a moment, and then answered, “A research station. They only have a minor garrison protecting themselves, and there’s no way they can hold out against the Zerg. The people over there have been working to develop the Apollo and Titan Reactors for our ships, so that they may perform better to the greater demands being placed on them.” Raynor seemed to have stopped short of saying something, and then directed his gaze to the pilot. “Helm, what is the ETA until we are within striking range of Kalis?”

     The pilot glanced at Raynor, and then spoke in a clipped tone: “Twelve hours, with the standard flight path, of course.”

     Raynor shifted his gaze to the view screen, which showed a computer generated grid map. It showed where the fleet was at present and where the distressed research station was. Friendly ships were shown in green, enemy ships in red, neutral in gray and unknowns in yellow. The route which was to be taken, had to go around what appeared to be a huge rift. The rift looked like a huge paint blotch, in all the shades of purple possible. Even on the grid, which looked like the descendent of a sonar reading,  it showed a relatively accurate picture of this phenomena.

     “Damn... There’s no way we’re going to be a able to reach them in time...” Raynor trailed off, his voice deep in disappointment. When he had given the order to set a course, he had forgotten, for what seemed like the hundredth time: hyper drive, off-line. Everyone, including Raynor had been more intent on fixing the hull, weapons, communications, and “normal” space engines. Normal space engines were the engines that operated at all speeds lower then the velocity of light. 

     I glanced at the screen showing the grid map, then at Raynor. From what I saw, Raynor either wanted to scream his brains out, strangle someone, or do both. For a second, everything was completely still: the only thing moving being the grid map, which had started pinging. Three  shapes dimly presented themselves, as the Hyperion’s sensors began to track them. All three of the ships were shaded in red, and were advancing on the Hyperion’s position.

     “What now...?” I had spoken those words, with little more then a sour attitude, when suddenly a communications channel flared up with barely audible words.

     “Hyperion.... This...  Confederate vessel... Kropella. We... defect... Need immediate... Under attack.... Assist... Urgent....!!!!”

     The message was a garble of hard-to-understand words, mixed with yells and screams in the backround. Half the kats on the bridge turned to give me an annoyed stare, then returned their attention to their stations. Raynor looked me in the eye, and then solemnly asked me, “What do you think? Is it a trap?”

     The defecting ship broke the near silence on the bridge again, “Respond...!!! Life support failing... Hull critical...!!!” An explotion coupled with metalic noises ended the distress call prematurely.

     Raynor’s question seemed to make my mind go numb. Why was he asking me? I knew only what I had read about the once-powerful Confederacy. “It could be a trap, but the Kropella might be telling the truth. I guess the right thing to do would be to save them, and see what happens next.” I couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, and stared at the screen. It didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real anymore.

     “Deploy fighters to protect the defecting Confederate ship. Tell them to escort it back to the fleet, once its pursers have been neutralized,” Raynor commanded.

     Somewhere, deeper within the Hyperion, a voice affirmed the order. Several seconds later, Wraith fighters had been deployed, and from what I had heard, with cloak. The view screen had changed to an actual picture of the Kropella and its aggressors. 

     The Kropella looked something like a flying rod, with tapered wings attached to the top middle of its hull. Its sides were charred and it seemed any moment, the ship could go up in flames. The smaller aggressor ships looked something like flying rays, with rows of guns visible on their wings. One of the two attacking ships was heavily damaged and beginning to lag behind in the chase. Maybe the unknown attackers wanted the defecting ship back in one piece to interrogate the captain, or intact, so that if the Kropella’s crew were spies, they could get aboard the
Hyperion and deal their damage.

     “This is Epsilon Wing reporting enemy contact. Engaging cloak.”

     “This is Lead, confirming lock on lead bogie.”

     “Set weapons to full power, go for the engines.”

     “Copy that Lead, targeting engines...”

     Epsilon Wing remained silent after that, executing their orders without further delay. At the end of the rather short dog fight, one of  the enemy aggressors had been destroyed and its companion had retreated before it had any chance of being destroyed. The Wraith squadron had then decloaked and taken up guard positions around the Kropella, and escorted it back to the fleet. 

     Slowly, but surely, the Kropella had docked with the Protoss Carrier, Gantrithor. The Hyperion didn’t have the space or equipment to receive the ship. The Kropella was about three times larger then a Shuttle, and a style of ship that had not been seen before... Either that or it was so new that its design hadn’t been put in any but the most important data bases.

     After a quick transmission, everyone necessary had arrived over at Tassadar’s Carrier, including Damage Control... Everything on the strange craft seemed to have suffered damage, and the last thing anyone wanted, was for the defector craft to explode inside of a friendly ship. 

     It was kind of strange, taking a momentary look at just how much my life had changed, and strange everything was... It know longer really mattered to me, what race or species I talked to... It all seemed natural, and not out of place. Those thoughts only flickered across my mind for about five seconds, then I just dropped them.

     Once Damage Control had finished doing emergency repairs to the Kropella, its hatch opened. Out stepped a rather tall, grayish furred kat, in what looked like a standard, field-duty uniform.

     “Thank you for rescuing us. I am Captain Tyler and before you start demanding why I defected, let me explain. The Confederacy has become completely corrupt. Their laws have become impossible to follow and the sacrifices asked too great. People in high Confederate commands are being executed for the smallest errors, and those crazy enough are even attempting an alliance with the new Earth fleet that has just arrived. For now, I know that there is
a non-aggression pact in place... My crew and I have no wish to be a part of this, but before we escaped, we were able to acquire some valuable information.”

     “Really?” Raynor had an almost bored tone, but was inclined to listen.

     “The station of Kalis Six was captured by Confederate forces seven days ago, and they acquired whatever research that had been accomplished. The foreign fleet, whose name I never learned, jousted the Confederacy to place this trap, so that they could destroy the strongest portions of your two fleets. By using the Zerg as an excuse, they would of attracted you to that location and ambushed you. Unfortunately for them, you couldn’t make the appointment.” The Captain waited patiently for a response. 

     “If so, then maybe the drive being off-line wasn’t such a bad thing after all, but how do we know that this isn’t one big elaborate setup?” Raynor asked.

     “We could test his loyally in the next conflict. If he chooses not to fire upon the enemy, we will know that he has being playing us for fools. I believe for the meantime, a close eye should be kept on him,” Fenix spoke....

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